Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa
by LaLuna
Summary: Finished! (Finally) Sorry about the wait there, folks. Final Chapters: 7 & 8. After Christine's departure, Erik awaits his inevitable death . He does not, however, expect a mysterious street mouse to stuble upon his kingdom. This is NOT OW story.
1. Default Chapter

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
The small, melted candle flickered softly in the gentle wind that blew through the Labyrinth. It was the last one he had, but it didn't matter if it went out. His life had already been surrendered to eternal darkness. His eyes glanced wearily around his ruined home for the thousandth time. Chairs were overturned, rugs trampled upon and crumpled up into pathetic heaps of red and gold. Sheets and sheets of paper, some blank and some scarred with ink, littered the floor, like dead butterflies. The familiar sounds of the Opera rehersals floated down through the ceiling, into the crypt; into his mind. It had been only two weeks , and already they were rebuilding their reputations and their lives. It was quite clear that he was forgotten by everyone, thanks, no doubt, to that foolish little Giry. She had come wandering into his home, like some lost little child, struggling to be brave, obviously searching for Christine. Already prepared for the fury which was hanging ominously around the entire Opera populace, he had concealed himself in one of the many catacombs and passageways which decorate the building's cellars, making it an eternal, nightmarish maze of darkness to anyone but him. Safe watching from his corner, like a spider, cowering from the kitchenmaid's frightening broom, he saw her approach his Lair and begin to search, in vain, for Christine, just as the mob broke through the portcullis and began their destruction. He later heard her telling the managers that 'He must be dead! He has surely killed himself, for he is nowhere to be found!' If only the ignorant little thing knew just how deep and complex the Opera's basement was. Then she might not be so quick to make the assumption of his demise.  
  
He sighed, and finally moved from his throne. What did it matter now ? He would rather the whole world know every inch of his wretched little hole, then to live without Christine. He grabbed the small candle and extinguished the flame, forcing himself to turn his thoughts to anything else. Death. Death's icy persona was surrounding him; enveloping him more and more closely . He had eaten very little in the past two weeks and drank even less. He was no fool, and knew that his body could not last for very much longer without nurishment and recreation. Part of him didn't want to breath, let alone eat, yet another part of him, a very dark and bitter part, was deliberatly refusing to sustain his life. His mind had already died, and yet, his cursed body was struggling to survive. There was a time, a very brief time just after Christine had left, when his thoughts were entirely consumed with her, and every memory she had given him. But now , there was nothing inside his brain except cobwebs and blackness. It was as though his mind and his home were connected somehow; when one shut- out the world completely , so the did other. Feeling quite weak and very tired, he fell to the floor, hoping that he would at last close his weary eyes and never again find them staring at an earthly object. But suddenly, a slight noise echoed in his trained ear. He had been wrong to think that all of his senses were of no use to him anymore, and he slowly lifted his head, as the sound became increasingly louder. It was a very gentle tapping in a noticable pattern, almost like footsteps. Almost as though someone was approaching .............  
  
Bianca hugged her ratty coat close to her as she ran. She may be small, but she could outrun all of those boys any day. She had been stupid to tease and laugh at them, and now she would most definitely have to pay for her harsh retorts. If they caught up with her, that is, which seemed highly unlikely if she found a suitable hiding place. The street boys often called her "Bianca the Cat," because of her hot temper, agile movement, and narrow, green eyes. They almost glowed, those eyes, and could be spotted yards away in the dark. They would always see those eyes first, and would run away, yelling through the alleyways, "Run for your lives, boys! It's the Cat! Bianca the Cat is on the prowl!" She never did get along well with others.  
  
They were swift tonight , and it seemed as though there were more of them. Gasping for air, she flung herself up against a wall in the darkest corner of a small alley, struggling not to breath for fear the angry footsteps would hear her. It didn't used to be so frightening, back when they were younger and it was just fists and scratching and biting. 'Cat fighting,' they called it. But now , they were older and more street- wise; and they had knives. Perhaps it wasn't just a child's game they played anymore. Maybe they really did mean to............  
  
She got down on the ground and rubbed her hands in the wet dirt, smearing it across her face, and cramming her long hair under the filthy hat she wore, hoping that, if they should find her, she might be mistaken for some other boy, scrounging around through the streets. Running her hands along the wet walls of the immense building, Bianca searched in vain for some form of refuge; a hole, a barrel, anything to hide in. Suddenly, she felt it. It wasn't brick, like the rest of the exterior. It was wood. Very strong, sturdy wood, painted to look like stone, but wood, nonetheless. The rain began to fall from the sky in an angry shower, soaking everything and intensifying the already chilly weather. In a desperate attempt to seek shelter, Bianca began pounding on the heavy door, hoping it was some charity house or convent where she could hide. Her fingers found a rusty handle, and she pulled with all her strength, until it finally gave way, squeaking irritably as though it hadn't been used in a very long time. Pulling it shut behind her, Bianca pressed her back against the door and struggled to catch her breath, while keeping a sharp ear out for any noise which might indicate that someone was heading in her direction . A loud crash and angry shouts suddenly echoed throughout the alley from which she had just escaped. Had she only been a few seconds slower, they would surely have found her. She shuddered, partly from fear and partly from the intense cold and darkness which enveloped her. Though the black passageway before her looked incredibly ominous and sepulchral, Bianca forced herself to continue down into the dank crypt-like residence. The Boys may not be properly educated, but they were by no means stupid and careless, and it was a very distinct possibility that they would soon find her mysterious door as well. She swallowed as she ran her fingers along the cold and cobweb-covered walls, forcing herself to be brave. Quickening her pace, she thought, with slight pride , "I'm a cat, aren't I ? And cats are not afraid of the dark."  
  
The footsteps reverberated throughout the many corridors of the cellars. They were quick, and unevenly spaced, as though the owner might be stumbling blindly through the dark, which was more than expected for anyone except Erik. Only the true master would know his own domain. Rising from the hard ground, he quickly lit the misshaped candle, debating whether or not to torture this poor fool, or to simply kill him instantly and painlessly. Erik did not especially feel like being merciful. He placed the candle carefully on a small writing desk, and darted into a small alcove in the side wall, watching closely like a falcon waiting for his prey. In the dim light, he saw a dirty little street boy suddenly come running from one of the many passageways which led up to the city. He was wearing a rather long, soot colored coat, several sizes too big for him, and an equally dirty hat. Not quite knowing how he had discovered his home, but prepared for him to steal something nonetheless, Erik prepared his hands for Death. It hadn't been that long since his last victim, and this was only a simple street urchin. He would do nothing except live and die in his own filth in the slums, and so Erik considered murder a gruesome favor he would bestow upon the boy. Pausing, he looked around curiosly, as though the fool could not believe what he was staring at. Obviously this wretch had not heard of the rumored Ghost beneath the streets, however, he would unfortunetely not live to tell the story of what he had seen.  
  
Shivering, the boy made his way towards a destroyed rug, balled up in a corner. So it was the fine rugs and tapestries he had been after, perhaps hoping to sell them for a reasonable price and collect the handsome profits. Just as he was prepared to leap from behind and strangle him, Erik paused; watching the boy intently. He had taken the candle from the desk, and was now placing it on the floor, next to the rug. Wrapping it around himself, he gave one last, suspicious glance to the unyielding darkness, and Erik saw the brief flash of his strange, green eyes, as the urchin curled up into an oddly shaped ball and slept . Now more curious than murderous, Erik approached the shivering mass of fabric and human, watching it rise up and down with each hesitent breath he took. He was about to reach out and startle the poor boy into escaping, but weakness and extreme fatigue took hold once more, and he faltered. Grabbing onto the walls for support, Erik worked his way back to the passage where he would not be discovered should his guest awake . Before succumbing to the spinning blackness around him, he smiled at what he had just realized . He had a guest.  
  
A dripping noise awoke her, and she opened her eyes to see what had happened . For the briefest moment, Bianca could not remember where she had been, or where she presently was, but as soon as her long fingers touched the smooth fabric of the rugs, the memories came flooding back. Those stupid boys had chased her through the city, brandishing their knives and fists, shouting angrily and forcing her into this strange, broken palace beneath the streets. Weak with exhaustion, she hadn't had the energy to explore the strangeness of her lodgings, but she was quite taken aback by the aristocratic and yet, eerie aura it possesed. Arising from her tight position on the cold floor, Bianca put her hands out in front of her, acknowleding the extinguished, borrowed candle. Even the day could not reach this nightmarish Inn, and the thought of a place where even sunlight couldn't touch made her shiver with fear. Someone had definitely lived here at one point in time , yet the whole area seemed so incredibly dead and forgotten that Bianca was sure no one occupied it anymore. And yet, she had the strangest feeling as though there were someone else, very near by ; watching her every movement and deciding her fate . Remembering the horrible stories her father used to tell her, about monsters who only dwell in cellars and holes, she decided to leave before whatever was observing her made themselves known.  
  
Discarding the rug, she found the passage through which she had entered, and started to follow it back to the streets, when a bone-chilling thought finally penetrated her sleep-deprived brain. The candle had been lit. When she had arrived , the night before , there was a small candle on the desk, which she had grabbed in her haste and exhaustion, not fully acknowledging the warm light radiating from its tiny flame. The candle had been lit, and she had not been the one to do it. Someone else had. Extremely afraid and suspicious, Bianca turned and ran blindly up the corridor, unaware of her sleeping host in the small alcove in the wall.  
  
Gasping for breath, Erik clutched at the edge of his throne, struggling to calm the spinning room which lay before him. This was it . It was finally time for him to die. After so many years of pain and anguish and questions and unbearable cold, he would finally close his tired eyes and allow the inevitable to embrace his feeble existence. Crawling along the floor, he prepared to curl up and die peacefully and respectably, ironically like any gentleman would, when the smallest flash of curious red light caught his eye. The last flames of his pitiful candle were dancing and reflecting off some unseen gem, almost mocking him. How dare they be happy when he, Erik , was about to die? How dare anything glitter and shine down here in this dismal cave anymore? In a sudden moment of foolish rage, he thrust a trembling hand out towards the mysterious jewel, trying to extinguish its light. Catching it in his palm, he pulled it close to his face, in an attempt to study it in the darkness of the basement . A simple stone, a ruby, finely cut and decorated with intricate patterns hanging from a chain threaded itself between his fingers as he memorized its lovliness. But it bore no familiarity . Though he had bought many fine stones and accessories for Christine , this had not been one of them. It was too strange, too oddly foreign. Never had he seen a ruby quite like this one. It was a rare item indeed , and he began to wonder where it had come from, and why he hadn't acknowledged it until now . Suddenly, a rather amusing thought struck him. Could it have belonged to that foolish street boy who had used his ruined home as an inn last night ? But where would a little urchin obtain such a fine gem? If he had stolen it, he had probably intended to sell it for a large amount of money. And if he had needed the profit badly enough, he would most probably be back to retrieve it......  
  
The sun was shining. The streets and houses were still wet from the night's storm, and they gleamed brightly in the harsh light of day . Bianca squinted as she quietly pushed her way past the crowds of people who swarmed through the square, cursing herself repeatedly in her native Italian. Her stealthy manner and swift, graceful gestures had not only earned her a feline alias, but a reputation as a rather crafty pickpocket as well. She had long ago abandonded the guilt and regret that must accompany every theif. A person has to eat; however they managed to accquire food was their own business. How then, in the name of Heaven and Earth, had such a skillful little rat managed to loose the only thing that contained any real value to her? It had been fastened securely around her neck, as it had always been since the day Mama had placed it there, explaining to her in a hushed voice about the Magic. Constantly bombarded by her strange surroundings as a child, Bianca had been incredibly impressionable, and so, of course, belived every word Mama had said . When Mama died, it was as though she had taken the Magic with her; as though it were somthing celestial which only belonged in Heaven. Though she had long ago given up on its power, Bianca still treasured it. It was her childhood, that necklace; her innocence. If it disappeared, she might as well. Head down, she pressed on through the chilly streets, scanning the ground furiosly for some sign of its presence. She would find it, even if she had to retrace every step she had taken since she left.....  
  
But it was not possible . She could not have left it there. She could not go back to that eerie prison; to the house of Death Himself. It had to be on the streets somewhere. Somebody found it and made off with it. She was never going to see it again . Alternative suggestions and solutions pushed through Bianca's brain, like the sullen Parisians on the streets pushing past each other in the bright afternoon light. She tried to forget about it; to erase the memory from her brain. Anything to prevent another trip down below to that horrible Labyrinth below the streets. But she could not erase the magic, and she could not forget Mama's smiling face, full of pride and adoration as she secured the chain to her beloved daughter's skinny neck like so many before her had done. It would be cowardly and selfish to try and forget. Bianca may have been a great many things, but she was by no means cowardly and selfish. And so, gathering her courage, she carefully walked back to the small alleyway where she had discovered the doorway into a nightmare. It opened much easier this time , and a small shaft of light penetrated the saturating darkness which engulfed the passageway. Her cat's eyes glowed bright with fear as she slowly made her way through the large corridors; keeping an ear out for any unusual noise or movement. Her sense of sight, though keen, was not very helpful in the eternal blackness which surrounded her.  
  
A thought suddenly struck her that she might have missed it already. Perhaps it had been right by the door, or somewhere along the floor of this passage. Getting down on her hands and knees and feeling the cold, wet ground all over, she continued slowly, making sure she left no area unexamined. She suddenly saw the ending of the tunnel, which opened into the deserted room where she had slept , so unaware of what lurked in the blinding night which sealed her off from any form of exsistence. The candle she had not lit still burned pathetically on a ruined desk. White with unfamiliar fear, she approached it slowly, hesitently wondering if she dared to touch it. If it was a mirage; a mere figment of her fear- intoxicated imagination, it would surely disappear with her touch. But it looked so real that she couldn't help but reach her trembling hand for its warm, familiar light, yearning for some form of comfort. The candle was so weak, however, that it immediately extinguished and melted in her palm as she let out an unnessesery sigh of relief . Before she could breath in again , however, another hand, as icy and strong as Death's own grasp, reached out and grabbed her by the throat, causing her senses to finally lapse as she fell to the frigid ground.  
  
He carefully fastened the necklace's delicate clasp. The ruby hung majestically from her neck and sparkled in the darkness. How strangely this curious gem resembled its owner; mysterious and foreign yet intricately beautiful in an oddly exotic way. She must have been terribly afraid; Erik hadn't meant for her to faint. He hadn't been expecting a female, however. It was not difficult to mistake this lost child for a simple street boy; her mannerisms and masculine clothes could have fooled even the most wary of Parisians. She had fooled Erik , had she not? The girl shivered in the damp, chilly airy, exhaling a slow, shakey breath as she slept . The dirty bandage on her forehead was quickly absorbing blood and staining to a frightfully intense shade of red. He had certainly not meant for her skull to collide with his writing desk as she fell, and he half-wondered if it had been wise to allow her to remain unconcious. Taking another dirty rag and wetting it in a small bowl of the frigid lake water, he gently moistened her wound with a skillful hand. She shifted and cried out, thrusting her hands forward into the air as if she were reaching out for somthing; or someone. Erik half wondered what she was dreaming. 'Am I going mad?' he thought, with sudden discontempt. 'Only a few moments ago I was preparing myself for Death, and now I am playing nursemaid to a pathetic street mouse?'  
  
Those eyes. He cast a weary glance to his restless patient and immediately recalled the eerie green flash of her eyes before she had collapsed on the floor of his home . They were like no other he had seen before. Even his own did not glow with such mysterious fear. Those eyes....... Fluttering, softly at first in the quiet darkness of the room, opened slowly as though she were a new born child looking at the world for the first time . Glancing around, her face went white with hysterical fear. She struggled to stand, but instantly realized that moving was too great a task for her injury to condone. Placing a trembling hand on her pale forehead, those Eyes acknowledged Erik with great intensity.  
  
"Where am I ?" the feeble request was barely audible in the hollow cellar. Hesitating at first and unsure of what to say, Erik spoke the first words he had spoken to any human being in two weeks .  
  
"The Opera. You know it, mademoiselle?" She nodded faintly and closed her cat's eyes once more .  
  
"Who are you?" this time , her voice was barely above a whisper. She was fading quickly, back into the wonderful eternity of some unspoken dream. He couldn't be sure whether she had fallen asleep again or was still waiting for his response. After a long pause , he gently whispered one word into the intense blackness. "Erik ."  
  
~To continue or not to continue? That is the question. I think I have a rough idea of how this story will end , and will probably keep writing it. But should I post it? Hmmm. If you wonderful people out there think it is "PhanPhiction Worthy," then yes, of course I will continue to post it. Even if you don't, who knows ..... Anyway, I know I didn't get very far into it, but if you all like it, I'll try to move the story along. So, cast your vote and thanks for reading!~ 


	2. Chapt 2

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
Note: I know I didn't mention this before, but you're all a smart bunch of readers. I have no doubt that you obviously realized that I do not, despite what you may have heard, own the POTO characters or concept. Just thought I'd clear that up, in case someone decides to file a lawsuit or something. Don't want to go through that again ......... haha, but seriously. Anyway, continuing ...............  
  
Bianca's eyes went wide with fear as she saw the white hand break through the dangerous river's foaming surface and flail about helplessly. She scanned the dark waters for some sign of anything that could assist her in rescuing Mama . Caught between a gnarled branch and several sharp rocks, Bianca could see Mama 's head break through the white caps. Her mouth opened wide in a strangled gasp for air before she disappeared beneath the icy rapids once more . Bianca couldn't move. She shut her eyes tight, and clenched her fists into tiny balls of denfiance. Perhaps if she shut out the frightening image; if she shut out the entire world which surrounded her, it would all cease to exsist. Everything that had ever caused her pain or fear or cold; everything would be swallowed up by some strange, black water, never to be seen again . Like Mama . Ignoring her mother's pathetic cries for assistance, Bianca slowly knelt down on the ground and wrapped her hands around her knees, molding herself into a little ball of shivering helplessness. She didn't think, she didn't speak, she didn't move. She barely even breathed. She didn't even look up when the screaming stopped .  
  
She awoke with a start. Her heart throbbed in her heaving chest, and nervous persparation glistened on her pale face. Closing her eyes, she tried to placate the seemingly spinning room by placing a trembling hand on her damp forehead. A gauzy piece of stiff cloth met with her touch, and she drew back, curious as to what had happened while she had been unconcious . She drew in a shuddered breath as the vivid nightmare came flooding back , like a tidal wave capturing ususpecting sailors in a storm at sea. Shaking her head, she mouthed the word, "No" over and over, trying to push the memories out of her mind, until she realized that she wasn't mouthing, but fervently chanting, "No, no, no!" while rocking back and forth on the hard ground. Where was she? What had happened ? She paused, sitting absolutely still, trying to remember exactly what had occured the day before . The ruby! Her hand instantly flew to her neck, where, to her utter shock and relief, it met with the familiar stone which sat so placidly beneath her dirty shirt. But how? She had lost it, this much she knew. Returning to the immense caverns below the streets in search of her only valuable possesion, she remembered how afraid she had been. And how cold . There was nothing after that ; only fear and blackness and the Nightmare. She shivered in the chilly air, and wearily rubbed her aching forehead.  
  
"I'm glad to see that you are finally awake , mademoiselle. I trust you will forgive my lodgings. I was not expecting a visitor." Bianca whirled her head around to face the mysterious, yet quietly beautiful voice. Her green eyes flashed with fear as they rested upon a shadowy figure; shrouded by the inky curtain of night . That voice. It was so wonderfully familiar, like the voice of an old friend, perhaps . One she had not seen for a long while. Peering through the dark in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her elusive host, her eyes narrowed . Though his throat resonated comfort , his stride did not. She instantly drew back, afraid to trust this dark stranger. There was something not right about him; about the whole cavernous room. She felt as though she had stumbled into the tomb of a long dead Pharao , and hadn't yet realized the curse that was cast upon his final resting place . Scowling into the blackness, she murmered harshly,  
  
"Sono dolente, il Signore . Non parlo la sua lingua." 'I'm sorry, Signore. I don't speak your language.' He laughed softly, a strange sound to be hearing in such an ominous place, and replied,  
  
"Realmente ? Non lei l'ha parlato completamente semplicemente appena ieri sera ." 'Really ? You spoke it quite plainly just last night .' Bianca drew in her breath sharply, taken aback at his quick reaction to what she thought was a strong defense.  
  
"You speak Italian?" she asked in his native Parisian, trying not to show her shock.  
  
"You speak French ?" he mocked her lightly and laughed again , this time with less enthusiam as before . She scowled a second time and whispered, hoarsly,  
  
"I don't make a habit of speaking to strangers."  
  
"Neither do I." His response seemed to Bianca quite similar to the dangerous river in her dream; symbolizing so much more than what was simply on the surface.  
  
"Where am I ? Who are you? What has happened ?" Her demands were quick and cutting. They sliced through the thin silence which hung in the air between them, breaking any tension either occupant might have felt .  
  
"So demanding for such an innocent little child," he remarked, with slight crispness. "I believe I have already answered two of your three questions. However," he glanced at the bandage on her forehead, "I imagine that you do not recall much of the past several hours ." He paused and walked slowly around her, like a lion circling its prey. "You are currently residing in what was once referred to as my home, several levels below the Paris Opera . I can only assume that you returned here yesterday to retreive the fine gem you mistakenly left behind the night before . I have yet to learn what brought you to my residence in the first place ." His home? This dead and forgotten cave of eternal night actually served as a house for a man? Or, at least, she thought he was a man. Bianca could not be sure . His voice may have belonged to an Angel, his aura and mannerisms possibly to the Devil himself. If only she could see him clearly in the light , she might not feel so ill at ease. After a long silence, he continued, aware that she was deliberately refusing to answer him.  
  
"You will fogive my reaction to your intrusion; I had no intension of causing you to fall unconsious. You are quite fortunate your wound was not serious. It should heal completely within a week or two . " Her hot temper flaired as Bianca finally recalled the cold hands of Death around her thin neck; grasping with intense strength and danger.  
  
"No intension? Really ? I find that your rather forceful hold around my throat with such strength would suggest otherwise ! Tell me , monsieur , do you always nurse your victims back to health with such a gentlemenly hand, or am I simply an acception?" Her hard breathing echoed throughout the cellars. Instantly , Bianca wondered if maybe she should not have spoken with such bitter discontempt. Sensing his sudden movement toward her, she backed away with quiet fear. She knew nothing about this man, nothing about his past or character. Perhaps she was not his first intended victim of murder. Perhaps he had even succeeded in....  
  
Suddenly, he was there, standing next to her cowering figure with an ominous aura of power. She was no longer Bianca the Cat , fearless and temperamental, but Bianca the Mouse , small and afraid in the presence of some immense giant. Grabbing her small arm with a shocking forcefulness and dragging her to her feet, he forced her head up towards his so their eyes met in the darkness. His touch was far colder and more deathly than Bianca could have even imagined. He could not have been human, it was not possible for any mortal on Earth to posses such a morbid grasp and yet such a heavenly voice. His eyes glowed as they stared into her's, and she suddenly gasped as she realized the similar intense fear and uncertainty which reflected in them. Still grasping her arm tightly, he whispered hoarsely,  
  
"No. You, dear Signorina, are an acception. The only acception I have any intension of making ever again ." He then released her from his iron hand, and backed away slowly into the dark . She could almost feel his mood change from dangerous to helplessness as a small sigh resonated throughout the room.  
  
"I have managed to obtain other candles. The one you so purposefully extinguished was my last. You will find them just to your left, on the seat of the organ. I have no use for them anymore, but I can not deny my guest the warm comfort of candlelight." His voice contained the slightest hint of bitterness, and Bianca silently wondered if he really thought of her as "his guest." How strange, almost laughable that this Dark Angel would serve as a host to any human being. She slowly moved towards the musical instrument, sensing its frightening presence as well in the blackness . Fingering a long, delicate candle in her palm, she carefully struck a match; instantly relaxing ever so slightly at its curious, familiar light. Strangely enough, she always felt more at ease when she could see things clearly; hardly the qualities one would expect from a cat. The soothing warmth from the candle calmed her shattered nerves as she placed it in an intricate holder which sat upon the organ, and strained to see the shape of her mysterious accquientence. Perhaps if she could just see his face, she might not feel so ill at ease...........  
  
If she had been frightened at all, she certainly didn't show it. Having a keen talent for sensing others emotions , Erik could notice very little fear radiating from his mysterious guest. He watched her intently as she lit all three of the candles he had discovered in some unknown drawer. Apparently , he was more prepared for darkness than he had thought. As the light flared and danced across the walls in eerie patterns, her figure was illuminated at last. She was very small, several inches shorter than Erik himself, and wore the same dirty coat she had worn the night before . Her hair was a long, jet black curtain that hung down her back in a tangled mass, and atop it sat a dusty brown hat, usually worn by younger boys. She was quite thin, and her strange green eyes were hollow; framing her gaunt face and making her features rather similar to a cat's. The candles must have cheered her slightly, for Erik thought he caught a glimpse of her smile in the illuminated pool of light.  
  
"This is not exactly what I would call an inviting residence, monsieur. How is it a person such as yourself has come to find a home down here ?" Startled at the slight forewardness of her question, Erik thought for a moment before replying simply,  
  
"I prefer to be left alone."  
  
"I can see how one must find lonliness accomidating in conditions such as these." Her reply was thoughtful, and absent-minded, as though she wasn't singularly concentrating on what she was saying. He watched as her eyes drifted over to the organ. The light danced on the smooth surface, and she gazed at it, almost in awe of its grand presence. "You are a musician? A composer ?" There was genuine intrigue in her voice. "Only a true master of music would own such a respectable item." She stroked its surface gently, sounding distant now , as though she were recalling something from the very depths of her past, or perhaps even her soul . Curious and slightly impressed by her appreciation for his fine instrument, Erik took a step closer, and asked, with mild interest , "You are familiar with music? It is something you have been educated in, perhaps ?" Still trance-like , as though she were sleep -walking through a wonderful dream , the girl murmered,  
  
"Yes. Yes, you could say that, monsieur. Very long ago, when I was-" and suddenly, the strange dream-girl was gone, and the cold, suspicious little cat with fear glowing in her green eyes returned . "I - I mean, I don't know much. It's nothing to speak of, really . I don't want to discuss it." She turned towards him with a swift, sudden motion and thrust the candle foreward; illuminating the area in front of her with the bright flames. Gasping softly, she slowly stepped backwards in surprise as she finally acknowledged the porcelein prison which still rested on his face. The light was cast upon him in such an angle that only the white mask was visable; everything else lay in shadows.  
  
"Surprised, are you?" he asked hoarsely. Her shock at his unusual accessory had brought back too many of the same memories and emotions he had tried so hard to surpress. Caressing his face, he said in a soothing whisper, "You need not be afraid of my mask, mademoiselle. It implies no danger to you, providing you keep your distance. I trust I shall not have to speak of it again ." She shook her head ever so slightly, and turned back to the organ, taking in a shuddered breath.  
  
"It's perfectly alright , monsieur. I understand that everyone has things they feel they must hide. I respect your wishes ." Her reply echoed strangely throughout the Labyrinth, and Erik half-wondered if she too knew what it was like to want to disappear from the earth forever . Stroking the organ keys once more , she murmered softly, "My name is Bianca ." She glanced up at him, her eyes still filled with fear, but now with questions as well, and silent tact. He realized suddenly that he did not have to answer to her; he could keep all the secrets he chose, and she would never ask. So different from another wandering child he once knew.......  
  
"I am Erik ." His words floated towards her in the dim light, resonating understanding and trust. He knew she would keep her promise .  
  
So Erik had a secret as well. Maybe more than one, Bianca may never know. She would never ask, not after what had just occured between them . She somehow knew that he was not someone to betray; as though perhaps he had been betrayed before. Perhaps by someone very dear to him. He was obviously well-associated with music; she could derive that simply from the fine organ and littered sheet music which covered the floor in a delicate, white carpet. He must have been a brilliant composer once, long ago in his youth. Weariness and the ravaging effects of time were present in his strangely beautiful voice, and she could almost hear his whole life resonating throughout the entire Opera when he spoke. She silently bent down and reached for a torn piece of paper, studying it slowly and noticing the sharp, accurate marks which dotted the staves. Closing her eyes, she tried to hear it in her mind; it truely must have been the most beautiful music to listen to. There was something about this man and his strange, forgotten home that told her , despite his frightening outward facade, he must worship and always strive for beauty. It was his voice, his heavenly yet helpless voice, which rang throughout her mind and echoed perfection .  
  
"I should love to hear your music, Monsieur Erik . I have no doubt it is quite lovely. I have always had a great respect for those who appreciate fine composing. Perhaps , someday ..." her voice trailed off as she noticed his heavy breathing once more in the darkness . Feeling she spoke when it would have been wise to remain silent, Bianca gently stood up to lay the paper on the organ, brushing it softly with her long hair. A strange emptyness seemed to fill the air, and she could feel something frightening forming between them.  
  
"I used to compose music," his voice was now hoarse, as though whatever he was imagining brought him great pain. "Music that I derived from my very soul . There was nothing my mind could not culminate; no chord or scale or rhythm I could not string into an endless web of eternal beauty." He paused, and for a very long time , Bianca stood quietly in the darkness , listening to the strange, irregular sound of his breathing. She could almost hear everything inside his heart . It was all there, so close and yet so far away that it wasn't quite tangible in the blackness which closed in around him. Again , Bianca recalled the murky waters from her dream, and how she had failed to rescue Mama from their churning wrath. Suddenly, it seemed to her that perhaps Erik , too, was drowning in some dark, mysterious lake; created by the anguish and pain he had so keenly known. If he was not rescued; pulled back from the precipice which had such a fixed hold on his very exisitence , would he drown as well ? An unknown sailor, taken from the world and thrown remorselessly into an unmarked grave, with only the jealous moon to weep for his loss.  
  
"When the world holds nothing but shadows of a shadowy past, and the future holds nothing but death, you find it hard to see anything for its wonderful beauty anymore." The depth of his voice told Bianca that he was fading softly now ; down into a world of surpressed memories and shattered dreams. Turning towards her, he stared into her green eyes. It were as though he were hypnotizing her with his glowing gaze, and she found it impossible to look away. "The music which you speak of so fondly exists only in the memory of very few. Only echoes of a once happier time that will never be ressurrected." Releasing her from his powerful stare, he began to walk down into one of the many corridors which created the cellars; away from his music and into his future . Seating herself at the organ, Bianca watched him go. She had opened a wound, and now he must go and attempt to salve it once more . Try to forget; Bianca realized how vividly she remembered repeating those words to herself so often .  
  
"Try to forget, try to forget......" she whispered softly after him. Turning away as he went, she ran her fingers along the opposite end of the instrument's smooth surface. Her thin hand suddenly brushed up against a circular object, resting near the very edge, by the ivory keys. Picking it up gently, she carefully studied the small treausure she had discovered in this cave of wonders . A dainty, golden ring rested softly in her palm............ 


	3. Chapt 3

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
Chapt. 3  
  
  
  
The passages seemed endlessly black and foreboding. A haunted maze full of frightening images that were only half-there, dark corridors and eternal , moonless night . It was as though he were staring into some horrific mirror; one that reflected his cold, unfeeling life rather than the cold, unfeeling man he had become . Up and down, back and forth he paced the cellars, his mind consumed by everything he had tried so hard to surpress into the black sea of time , until he no longer knew where he was. It was unthinkable; Erik loosing himself in his own kingdom, becoming weak and vulnerable to the silent dangers only he was unafraid of. Perhaps , if his thoughts had not been so consumed with the memories of his bleak past ; perhaps if he had not been slowly allowing his mind to drift further into madness, he would not have forgotten his beloved home through which he took such pride in creating an eternal dungeon. But the shadows of what used to be lingered on the floor and haunted the very interior of the building, casting their phantasms upon the walls and projecting forgotten voices into the caverns, until Erik suddenly felt as though they were the ghosts and it was he who was their innocent victim; ready to be swallowed up by the nightmarish blackness which surrounded him . Gasping for breath, he flung a skeletal hand against the wall and clawed at the brick with wild rage reflecting in his glowing eyes. He could see them; he knew they were there, but this time , he would not let them escape unscathed. They would pay for what they had done to him! They would pay for leaving him to die in the cold, forgotten prison of his mind. He would take his revenge . In the midst of his fury, a soft whisper suddenly caressed his tormented ears, as though a gentle breeze had blown past him, chilling him to the bone. One word slowed his labored breathing and soothed his ravaged mind.  
  
"Erik ...." Its echo danced throughout the Labyrinth , leaving a thin trail of mysterious beauty as it drifted along the walls. "Erik ," it called again , this time more intense, more vivid. Almost as though its keeper was standing just beyond the passage, calling to him from some other world. Almost as though its keeper had never left him ...........  
  
Following the Voice's wordless song, he became hypnotized by its power and celestial beauty. The memories and emotions he had tried so hard to drown in some lake of shattered dreams surfaced as he reached out for her blurring figure and remembered everything which brought him pain.  
  
"Christine ....." he murmered helplessly into the darkness, like a doomed sailor, beckoned by the siren's enchanting song. The figure turned, and he at last saw her heavenly face, glowing with radience at the sight of her wonderful Angel . She was, and always had been, the delicate, white rose which grew among the black thorns and bare trees of the dead and forgetten forest beneath the Opera . Above ground she had been worshipped merely for the purity of her voice; below the streets, however, Erik worshipped the purity of her very soul. Turning from him once more , she quickly slipped into another passage; still casting her singing upon the walls and floor, mocking him and poisening his mind with her song.  
  
"Erik , come back . Come back to me ....." His hands outstretched, no longer afraid of her strangely fading figure, he replied,  
  
"Christine .... Christine ! Don't run away! I'm here ! I never left you! Oh Christine , don't run away again ...." His voice faded slowly into a choked cry of despair as his shapeless Angel drifted out of his sight. Staggering along the cold walls, he attempted to follow the fading sound of her voice through the doorway which returned him to his desolate home . She was silenced now ; subdued by the deathly stillness which enveloped all who entered his kingdom. Glancing around in the blackness, trying to force his weary eyes to adjust in the harsh lack of light, Erik saw her at last. Her small, trembling figure had curled itself into a a tight ball of shivering helplessness. Holding his breath, he approached her cautiously, as though she were some timid white rabbit who would disappear into the ground at the sight of any foreign animal. In the dim candlelight, he saw her fragile body rise and fall which each shuddered breath. Her hand shifted along the hard floor, and a bright flash caught his eye as it danced in the pallid glow which surrounded her in a warm halo. Glancing briefly in the direction from where it had come , he caught sight of the dainty, golden ring which he had chosen so carefully to place on her pale finger, only to have it returned and replaced by another more properly suited to her heart . His rested there now , instead of the one he had expected to see. Gazing into the soft light, Erik smiled ; the first in many miserable weeks . His Christine had returned .......  
  
There had been no noise. No splintering crash or wrenching cry of agony to cause her to wake so suddenly . It was almost as though someone had reached out and grasped her arm with fierce intensity, forcing her eyes to open, wide and afraid. As Bianca slowly lifted her head and scanned the dark room , however, she could see no shape in the blackness; no hand on her shoulder. Letting out a small sigh, she gently picked herself up from the cold ground on which she had chosen to curl up and rest, like the poor little street mouse that she was. No dreams had haunted her subconcious; no frightening nightmares, no images of Mama's lifeless body disappearing beneath the foaming waters of death. She had slept quite blissfully , allowing herself to forget her terrible recollections and strange encounters with some fallen Angel beneath the Opera , and slide simply into the glittery peace of an unknown world. Noticing the low -burning candles, she stretched a pale arm up towards their light, hoping , perhaps to catch some of its comforting illumination in her hands. The familiar flash of gold sparkled in the darkness , like a shooting star falling from the inky sky, and she smiled as she had when she first discovered the ring. It was so curious to find something of such simple, yet breathtaking lovliness in this dark maze of sinister caverns, and yet, it was not out of place. A diamond in the rough , perhaps . The stories she had always loved most told of wonderful, mysterious beauty hidden beneath some outwardly frightening and ominous facade.  
  
It was the dull longing she had thought was forgotten which told her to place the small ring on her thin finger and admire it; remembering gently a time when she thought she knew what happiness was. Her eyes transfixed on the perfect gold band, Bianca slowly lifted herself up towards the organ, leaning on its side for support. Her head suddenly throbbed with quick, sharp stabs of pain and her gaze was broken as the room began to spin and blur into an eerie portrait of distant madness. Moaning softly, she placed a hand to her forehead and felt the gauzy cloth; remembering her mysterious injury and at last thinking of Erik .  
  
"You are awake . " the voice was soft and soothing, causing Bianca to turn away from the candles and peer into the dark , searching for the man who possessed it.  
  
"Erik ...?" the small question was seemingly swallowed by the blackness as her voice trailed off into a slight whisper.  
  
"Hush, be still . There is no need to be afraid. Please do not be afraid...." It sounded as though he were a small child, pleading for something he knew he could not have . As though he knew it would be useless to try and calm her.  
  
"Erik , where are you?" Bianca's voice grew slightly louder, as her fear of the unknown increased . She knew very little about her aloof host , and did not quite trust him yet as simply a voice. Hearing soft footsteps moving gently towards her , Bianca reached blindly for a candle and pushed it foreward; illuminating the frighteningly mysterious night in a warm bath of yellow light around her face. Almost out of nothingness, Erik appeared; towering before her in an ominous aura of dangerous power. What she could see of his masked face was solid, as though he were a statue carved out of stone. Bianca was about to gasp and shrink back into her little ball of protection, when she caught sight of his glowing eyes. Unlike his rigid features, they were soft and quiet, shining gently in the calming candlelight which danced across his face; almost as though he were speaking to her through them, saying, "Trust me ." And suddenly, she couldn't look away. Once again he had grabbed her mind with the power of his eyes and tightened his grip so that she would never go free until he at last relented and turned from her. Holding out a trembling hand, he gently caressed her pallid cheek with his deathly fingers.  
  
"Don't be afraid...." he murmered softly, still hypnotizing her with his gaze. "Christine .... Please don't be afraid....." Pulling her head back from his thin hand, her green eyes wide with fear, Bianca stared up at him in confusion.  
  
"Who- Wha- What did you say? Christine ?" A great wave of saddness swept through him, and she could almost see it wash over his body, causing the weak foundation of his spirit to collapse in on itself. The look in his eyes held such pain that Bianca felt hot tears of unknown anguish run down her own face, scalding her skin.  
  
"Why are you here ? Why did you come back , when it is so obvious that I still frighten you? I know you are afraid, Christine . I can see it in your eyes. It is the same look you wore when I first brought you to my home . The same look you wore when you finally realized your Angel was merely a horrifying monster." His breathing was coming in hard, deep gasps, as though he had just been pulled out of a churning lake, and Bianca saw the gentleness in his eyes begin to fade; a frightening combination of hurt, rage and despair taking its place.  
  
"Erik , what are you saying? Who is Christine ? What is the matter with you? Your eyes, they're...." Her voice trailed off into nothingness, as his expression grew more intense. Grasping her shoulders fiercely, he brought his masked face close to her's, his gaze burning itself into her own.  
  
"Why? I don't understand? Why!? I allowed you to go! You were free from the horrible nightmare; the terrifying demon who murders stagehands and deceives innocent chorus girls with his heavenly voice... It was all over for you, wasn't it Christine ? You had your Vicomte , you knew that from the very beginning . All you needed was the freedom from your Angel , and all of this would finally come to an end. You should have asked, Christine . You know there is nothing on this earth I wouldn't give to you." His eyes softening slightly, Erik's voice suddenly grew quieter, and more dangerous; like the deadly eye of a destructive hurricane. Bianca could hear his raspy breathing combine with her own, and she half-wondered if he would attempt to strangle her to death, as he had during their first encounter . He was clearly insane; a raving, delerious lunatic who experienced delusion and recollections of some horrible past. His grasp on her shaking shoulders weakened as silent tears began to run down his face, dissolving into the chilly air before they reached the hard ground.  
  
"But you didn't ask, did you? You didn't ask for your freedom; you were simply going to steal it and run away into the night , like the cowardly little theif that you are! I surprised you though, didn't I Christine ? I gave it to you anyway. I told you there was nothing I wouldn't deny you. So you left; without a sound escaping your cursed lips, silently praying never to return to this nightmarish dungeon , while Erik , poor Erik was forbidden to follow. The wretched, bottom-feeding fish who loved a little songbird was left behind to wallow in the bleak misery he created for himself. Is that why you have returned , Christine ? You wanted to see what became of Poor Erik ? To show him the wonderful life you now live, with your wealth and your Vicomte ? No longer the sparrow with a voice of pure gold, but a horrible little mockingbird, come to mock her once cherished teacher with his own decision ! Why, Christine ? Why!? You didn't even say goodbye...." His voice broke, and a terrible cry of despair escaped from his throat as he finally released her; flinging her across the room onto the hard ground. Staggering over to the frightening throne, he grasped it fiercely and lowered himself to the floor in a shaking ball of terrible hurt and dangerous rage. Bianca could feel her chest heaving with deep sobs, as though she was somehow sharing in his incredible pain. For what seemed like an eternity, she sat staring at the broken remains of what she assumed was once a fine man, wondering whether he would return from his delusion or simply die from anguish and unbearable cold. Too afraid to allow him to escape from her hollow eyes, she studied him closely as his breathing gently slowed and the half-murmered pleas to the unknown Christine quieted, until silence returned once again to the eerie Labyrinth and a deathly chill hung in the air. Bianca was so afraid of him now , that she could barely move. Her mind spun with paralyzing fear and unanswered questions; taunting her subconsious and pushing her into a state of quiet paranoia. Her knees pulled tightly against her chest, she sat on the damp floor, her green eyes peering at her pitiful host with fierce concentration. She felt almost as though she were caught in the den of a frighteningly large lion who would awake and catch her in his powerful grasp should she shift even an inch. As hot tears drifted slowly down her pale face, Bianca suddenly realized she couldn't distinguish whether they were for Erik's suffering or her own.  
  
  
  
~ Hmmmmm, I know it still has progressing to do, but don't worry! More is coming ! Thanks for reading!~ 


	4. Chapt 4

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
Chapt. 4  
  
Note: THANKS to all those who read and/or reviewed! I really apprieciate your feedback and suggestions. Enjoy !  
  
  
  
White lightening cracked through the sky in an angry, jagged line. The ominous roll of thunder follwed immediately , resonating in his ears like the roar of a powerful lion, deep in the heart of an African jungle. A strong gust of ferocious wind blew, scattering dead leaves and capturing the gnarled tree branches in its unyielding whirlwind of destruction; projecting their frightening patterns in an eerie silhouette against the brightness of the full moon. Slowly opening his tired eyes, Erik gingerly lifted his head to investigate the origin of the noises; the forces of nature did not exist where he had chosen to create his residence. Becoming more alert, he suddenly realized with confusion that he was not leaning against his comfortingly dark throne in a crumpled heap of blind emotions and shattered dreams , but rather, curled up in a shivering ball on the floor of a small, rectangular chamber which was covered with rotting straw and dirt. It contained a certain smell; one of fear and damp earth, which was strangely familiar to him. Staggering to his knees and forcing his yellow eyes to open completely , a strangled gasp escaped his lips as four walls made entirely out of thin, metallic bars met with his horrifed gaze. Their silvery iridescence glistened in the pale moonlight , almost mocking him with their beauty and underlying danger. A cage. He had been placed inside a cage! A wild, indescribable fear suddenly gripped him, as his hands flew to the siding and began to beat at it with the rage of a wild animal. Groping around in the barely illuminated darkness , Erik scanned the area around him with a frightened sort of desparation ; searching in vain for the vile human being who had dared to lock him up again . Strange images of of past memories flew through his mind; recollections he thought he had buried deep inside his subconcious , unearthing them only when the thought of self -toture seemed justified . They gathered around him, penetrating the walls and forming an invisable shell of madness inside his prison. A horrible man with the smile of the Devil and a wip that cracked angrily appeared and grinned mercilessly at him, like some demoic Cheshire Cat , before disappearing into the swirling mass of forgotten horrors. He could hear a woman's shriek, and a man's voice crying loudly,  
  
"What, in Heaven's name is that THING?" Children whimpered, and floating images of ladies ran past, carefully averting their eyes. Sticks where thrown, as well as sharp stones and pieces of glass. Trembling with rage and inhuman fear, Erik blindly attempted to ward them off with his weakened hands and pitiful cries.  
  
"No... No!" he murmered, incoherently, over and over . His voice sounded strangely similar to a small boy's, no longer possessing the soothing, gentle beauty from his years of experienced vocalizing. A shadowy figure slowly approached the cage with a steady, meaningful stride. Believing it to the the silhouette of the grinning man, he suddenly leaped forward with an intense rage surging through his brain, letting out a powerful cry, similar to those emitted by Roman Warriors before commencing with a bloody battle . The still glowing moon at last cast a pallid beam of light onto his victim's face as Erik restrained himself; pausing as though lightening had struck him. It was not the man with the Devil's smile who stood amongst the shadows and delighted in his inner turmoil, but a figure so unexpected and shocking, it caused Erik to crawl into a far corner in alarm, a small gasp escaping from his throat. The face of Christine stared back at him through the bars.  
  
"Christine ....." His voice was barely audible in the howling wind and laughing voices which surrounded him. She smiled, her expression bearing an eerie resemblance to the man with the wip, as she reached out to touch the cage which separated them. Lightening flashed again , casting a frightening glow upon her face, and filling her eyes with the most unimaginable fire. Reaching into the swirling black cloak which enveloped her body, her pale hand emerged , dangling a silver key between her fingertips. It glittered in the moonlight with a tantilizing luster that hypnotized him and silenced the shrieking shadows.  
  
"Christine .... help..." Stretching a trembling arm towards her, Erik struggled to focus on the blurry figure which stood before him. He knew she was there, and that she could see him cowering before his own nightmares , and yet she would offer no assitance. Instead, her smile grew wider, as her eyes continued to dance with the strange, blazing madness of a wicked spider who had just caught a pitiful little fly in its web. Gripping the bars wildly, Erik began to feel himself slipping away from reality , as though he were falling into a deep chasm from which he would never emerge. His glowing eyes frantically cut through the blackened night , searching for some form of escape from the ghost-figures, and the Smiling Christine . Breathing hard, in deep gasps, his gaze fell upon the small, crumpled figure of the girl with the glowing green eyes huddled in the opposite corner. She, too was scanning the darkness in vain for a way out of the endless maze of insanity which surrounded them. More thunder reverberated through the horrific night , as Erik shrank back onto the dirty floor, staring intently with frightened understanding at the still laughing shadows outside his prison. Another flash of lightening ripped open the inky sky, as the heavy rain fell at last in an intense, pounding curtain. They were trapped.  
  
Small beams of light danced in far-off corners of the dimly lit room, like fireflies, floating from one tree to the next . Her head pounded as she gingerly lifted it from the knees which were pulled tightly against her heaving chest. Scanning the darkened room, Bianca slowly began to recall the horrifying illusion of ultimate human suffereing she had witnessed , before cowering before her dellusioned host in a breathless ball of timid fear and confusion. Instantly , her eyes flew to the throne, effortlessly pushing away the blurry images which come with weakened fatigue . They glowed with their eerie resemblence to a dangerous panther's as she desparately searched the dimly lit room for some sign of the mysterious madman with whom she was imprisoned. A warm, wet sensation ran down her forehead and onto her pale face, causing her trembling hand to brush fervently at her cheek. The familiar scarlet stain of fresh blood tainted her thin fingers, and Bianca realized the wound Erik had caused and then doctored must have broken and continued to bleed. Suddenly , as though he had appeared out of nowhere, she saw him; standing perfectly still near his fine organ, gazing expressionless into nothing. She thought for a moment , in her illogical state of exhaustion , that perhaps it was not him at all; that she had somehow mistaken him for a beautifully sculpted image of her elusive host . He was standing so straight and motionless he could have been easily made of stone. Wiping irritably at her relentless injury and reaching for one of the low-burning candles which rested upon the cold floor, Bianca released herself from the tightly folded position she had created and silently crawled towards him , unsure of why she was placing herself within his dangerous grasp. Still , he exhibited no movement or evidence of life . It was as though he had removed himself from the world below the streets, and was floating up to some placidly odd Heaven where he would at last escape the suffering he so intently knew . Stopping at the base of his rigid body, Bianca timidly pushed the candle up towards his face, exposing his white mask in the pale illumination; almost blinding her with its harsh reflection. Seeing the unusual tranquility which danced in his glowing eyes, she began to wonder if perhaps he was indeed in some other world; a form of catatonic fit which caused a person to completely detatch themselves from reality without any instigation as to when they would return , if they did at all.  
  
"Erik ....." she breathed quietly into the darkness , unsure of how she wanted him to respond. There was a long, frightening pause, during which neither occupants of the cavernous cellars dared inhale a foolish breath, until, at last the impending silence was broken by a voice which sounded as though it was filled to its maximum containment with memories.  
  
"She believed I was her Angel . It truely hurt her to learn I was nothing more than a mortal man ." His voice possessed a surprisingly smooth and soothing quality, despite the harsh, rigid facade he projected , and Bianca exhaled slowly as the murmered words caressed her ears.  
  
"Has it been not even a year since I first saw her ? It is difficult to think that such great amounts of wonderous anticipation and tantalizing pain would occur during the minute course of several months . I feel so old, almost as though she stole the youth I once thought was eternal . I now realize that it was not I who possessed the callow happiness which seemed to fill my entire surroundings, but her. She was the innocent child, the bright angel , and I was nothing more than the pitiful creature of darkness who thought that perhaps he could bask in her light and steal it for his very own ." He stopped, and Bianca could sense his hesitation in the damp, underground air. Feeling as though she had stepped outside of her body and was watching the curious scene unfold from a safe, dark corner, she quietly allowed one word to slip from her throat, before having the chance to examine it in her mind.  
  
"Christine ?" she asked, timidly, noticing how beautifully the candle light danced in his oddly placid eyes. He turned towards her at last . His expression, no longer cold and marbleized, projected a soft, painful understanding which told Bianca she had guessed correctly . "She was no doubt someone you cared for very deeply . Someone you loved ...." Her voice trailed off into nothingness as her own flood of wrenching recollections returned too quickly with a sharp, stabbing sensation . The hurt embedded so deeply in Erik's expression mirrored her own with such cutting acuteness that she had to look away, for fear of dissolving into nothing more than a crumbling heap of blind suffering as he had done.  
  
"She was my Angel , as I was to her. However, my wretched heart somehow withstood the agony of betrayal. Her's could not. It seems so foolish now , to think that I could have deceived her forever . But she was so innocent; a lost child who called out for the one thing I knew she would never have.... unless I was to intervene. I think perhaps I would do it again , had I the chance ; though it was the first of many steps to my inevitable destruction." Bianca slowly raised her head to face him in the soft light once more . His gaze had adopted a glassy incandescence as he gently stroked the fine organ; his harsh breathing echoing throughout the darkened passages.  
  
"The only other woman I have ever implored with such longing was my mother. It is actually quite curious to think how much they resemble each other ; both anticipated my arrival with excitement and wonderful plans of endless happiness , however, when I was revealed to be nothing more than a frightening antithesis of what was believed , I was swept aside and feared, like the hideous spiders one finds behind walls and underneath floors. I knew Christine could never accept me as I was ; she was too naive to look beyond the surface, so I wore the mask of the Angel of Music and carefully play-acted my role with astounding prescion and extreme caution, until my Pandora accquired too much unnecessary knowledge, and became dangerously curious. Something inside us shattered when the mask fell away, and the illusion distorted. We both realized the Fairy Tale had at last come to an end, and only cruel reality was left, staring us in the face. She, of course , became frightened and turned to the only sold, protective person she had in her irrational state of mind. I, on the other hand, went mad. Though I've tried, I still cannot recall the exact thoughts which were surging throughout my entire being during my dellusion . I only know that I was far beyond the point of sanity; it did not matter how I was to accomplish it, even if she and I were to die. I would not be subdued and rejected again . Even the omnipotent Opera Ghost has his limitations . I was no longer Erik , but Don Juan Triumphant ; dark, unforgiving and unyeilding to any and all pitiful cries for mercy . I heard no one; saw no one except Don Juan in all his devilsh glory , and thus I had carefully dug my own grave, for there was no other way out. I had fallen down too deeply into the chasm, and yet, though I tried , somehow failed to pull her in after me . She was too celestial, too heavenly to be condemned to an eternity of black sorrow and useless tears. At long last , my cage opened and the free world exposed itself in a brief, astounding rush of light, but my Angel was the only one to escape its sinister hands; quietly locking the door of my prison behind her for the final time . She is the sole possessor of the key, who must bear the burden of freedom forever , as I must continue to bear the burden of eternity ."  
  
Though his story was vague and obscurred, Bianca found she could decipher its powerful meaning, almost as though she had been there to witness each painfully bitter detail. Life had been cruel to Erik , whether he had been deserving of it was beyond her comprehension, and the agony Christine had caused was the last he would ever encounter in this world . A single tear slid down her pale cheek and gently extinguished the candle she held in her trembling hand. 


	5. Chapt 5

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
Chapt.5  
  
  
  
Erik watched intently as the lucid tears fell silently down her pale cheeks. Had he not been the man that he was, it would have been a rather uncomfortable situation to stand and gaze upon a simpering child weep quietly at his feet. But Erik had seen and done a great many things in his exhaustingly curious existance; he had made young girls cry, and so the tears of yet another sobbing ingenue was not enough to melt the bitterness embedded around his heart .  
  
He was unsure as to what had posessed him to relinquish the pitifully tragic tale of the cold agony which had kidnapped his life , to a stranger who, no doubt did not care to hear the story of Poor Erik . But his thoughts had not been focused on the wide-eyed girl who was lost and afraid in a mysterious kingdom of darkness . Only one woman had immersed herself completely inside the depths of his brain once more . A woman who, much like his street-urchin guest , was still very much a child, and had also shivered helplessly on the frigid floors of his home ; vulnerable to the unknown horrors of the impending night . Christine . The name tasted bittersweet on his tongue, combined with the salty tang of tears shed in vain . Cursing his mind silently for allowing his angelic demon to once again capture his very soul , Erik slowly lost himself in the black shadows of memories passed which haunted the cellars ; desparately imploring the darkness for answers he knew he could not have . At last , the Phantoms of what might have been dissipated , soaring gently away on an unknown wind; leaving the Phantom of What Must Be alone, with only another broken spirit to keep him company.  
  
"You weep, Mademoiselle, for my pain?" The question resonated throughout the Opera cellars with quiet intensity, cutting through the deathly chill which surounded them and silencing the girl , causing her to raise her glowing eyes up to meet with his own. She hesitated slightly, before responding,  
  
"Yes , Monsieur Erik .... and no ." He turned to stare deep into her volumnous expression; the peak of his curiosity slightly aroused . Allowing himself the pride to believe that her tears were shed only for him , Erik arched an eyebrow ever so slightly in mock astonishment .  
  
"No ? It hasn't been long since the last time I gazed upon the suffering of a young child such as yourself, and so, you will forgive my astute manner , Mademoiselle , when I say that I can identify pain. What else could possibly bring forth the agony which has gathered in your eyes?" The girl smiled faintly through the dim light produced by the fading candles.  
  
"You flatter yourself, Erik . I know you have experienced a great deal of anguish, simply by extracting the harsh facts from your pitiful story, however, do you honestly think you are the only human being who has ever been hurt or despised ? Do you truely believe Life has been cruel to you, and you alone?" The simplicity of her words cut through him like a knife, depriving him of the mysterious retorts and ominous resolutions which she had apparently grown accustomed to hearing escape his lips . Though it was quite obvious that his guest had never known good fortune , it shocked him to think that perhaps she shared in the similar , wrenching pain which he had thought was resevered only for a select few . But it was not possible for this wayward little cat to have experienced the black misery which had been carefully created and layed aside especially for Erik . Underneath the boyish mannerisms, ratty clothes and layers of ash and soot, stood a young girl with pleasant features and a charming smile; who, undoubtably could have been a strong and beautiful lady of society , had she only been given the chance . The horrors of what lay beneath the mask could never have haunted her. What, then, was so depressing that she couldn't at least take a moment to weep only for Erik ? His self -absorbtion surprised him, and he paused to gather his thoughts , unsure of how to respond.  
  
"I can see that my words astonish you. Perhaps you think that I could not possibly understand the true pain which has accompanied Monsieur Erik throughout his cold, miserable life . Perhaps you are right . There are still many things I haven't learned , regarding your existance , and I am unsure as to whether or not I ever will . Since it would obviously be unfair to propose such a bold argument without proper justification, however, I will not deprive you of the sad occurances which have lead me to present it. That is, unless it would bore you." The slight bitterness which hung onto the last of her words suggested that perhaps she had relinquished this proclimation before, only to be silenced, patronized or ignored. Erik was beginning to realize that his mysterious stranger was more than she appeared to be ; the dirty street urchin who walked the streets was fading, and in her place , a blurred figure of hurtful pride and feline curiosty was forming . His intruigue growing , but still reluctant to express it , Erik 's eyes penetrated the darkened cellars, giving his silent permission for her to continue .  
  
"I was born to an inexperienced mother and a father who wanted a boy . My mother later discovered that Father would never receive his male heir. He thought less of the both of us after that . It was a strange match between them ; an Irish farm-girl and a proud, wild-eyed Spaniard , roaming the Italian countryside like a pack of wolves; but nobody else seemed to notice, and I became colorblind to my patchwork heritage . I encountered so many strange and magical things wherever we went, and I soon realized that what I once thought to be bizarre was ordinary compared to the spectacles I had seen. Such was the life of a Fair-Owner's daughter , and I grew to cherish our gypsy characteristics with a certain pride ."  
  
She hesitated for a moment, and in the deepening silence, Erik shuddered. The word "gypsy " had taken his breath away, causing him to inhale sharply; leaving him gasping for air as though he had been pulled into a vast, dangerous lake. It was as though a stone had been attachted to his ankles, dragging him down, down into the deepest, blackest cavern of his mind, to where all the pain resided. Here , every wound would be slashed open, every cut exposed, every scar torn apart, until the fresh agony of a life so cold would be ever-present once again . Memories of the past floated by in a horrible parade of torture. The horrible gypsy fairground, and each moment of fear and torment which had never erased itself from his mind surfaced , accompanied by his ominous dream. The devilish man and the smiling Christine mocked him from their havens beyond the bars, until Erik could not tolerate their haunting presence any longer. Grasping his thobbing head between his thin fingers, he forced the glow of his eyes to rest upon the small frame of his urchin guest .  
  
"Go on ," he murmered, hoarsely. Curiosity no longer wracked his brain. It was the mere thought of returning to the sepulchral cellars of his subconsious which caused his heart to cry out for some form of escape; finding it only within the mysterious gaze of an alley cat . She started , as though he had aroused her from a deep sleep , and eyed him carefully with an expressionate stare, before continuing .  
  
"I can see , however, that you do not think as highly of my upbringing as I once did. It appears the gypsy caravans have left their mark on more than one person over the years .  
  
"Even before I could talk, I knew music. Mama sang Irish folk songs and Italian lullabys, and Father had his wooden flute and fiddle. Had we possessed no knowledge of anything musical, our purpose with the traveling fair would have ceased to exist long ago, for that was how we earned our money, and our right to stay . It was essential that everyone in the camp claimed and witheld their place; our's was to entertain using the soft melodies from Father's instruments, and Mama's voice . I have never again heard such beauty flow from any human throat, and I doubt that I ever will . She was my father's only pride , as I was not the boy he had anticipated ; however, he did make sure I was put to good use. A little wind-up doll who danced on command took the place of his once carefree daughter , and I soon forgot all emotion whenever he was near . 'Come , Bianca , it is time . The hour grows late , you must come ! Dance, Bianca , dance!' And the music would start ; combining with Mama's song in a heavenly presentation, completed only by the presence of a young ballerina who spun around the fire with such agility and grace, it made young men smile and children applaud in delight . He never offered gratitude or appreciation , however. A simple smile of encouragement would have sufficed , and yet there was nothing.  
  
"Fortunetely , I was not completely forgotten. Mama somehow managed to rescue my spirit from a meaningless life of vacant performing . She would always speak of music, and how it must have a soul with which to breathe and grow; otherwise, there could be no Magic.  
  
"'You must dance for you, Bianca . ' she would murmer in Italian, and gently stroke my hair . 'And no one else. You are my pride; my Princess . My Princess .... '" The girl stopped, and closed her eerie cat eyes briefly , as her trembling hands gently fingered the exotic ruby which hung around her pale throat. Neither occupants of the morbid cellars dared breathe, and for the smallest incriment of time , Erik absorbed the quiet which surrounded them . He reflected with slight astonishment on the impact of silence , and how he had trained his mind to somehow survive without sounds. Yet he knew , no matter how desolate the world may seem , and no matter how dead society thought him to be , the soft melodies of nights passed would haunt his memory forever . Christine had, quite literally put him inside a cage, and locked the door behind her; but the cruel irony he felt with burning remorse was that it had been built by his own hand.  
  
"That was what she meant by Magic." Her words sliced through the stillness , and once more , Erik was rescued from falling . "The life a person brings to music was so extraordinary , how could one call it by any other name? I used to be that naive; to believe in the Magic .... It is almost as though she took it with her; as though it doesn't belong here on Earth. Only the Angels guard what is truely celestial , I suppose ." She turned her gaze up towards Erik , and he could see the faraway mist which danced in her glowing eyes fade, and in its place , the familiar pain returning .  
  
"It is not the fact that she is gone which continuously breaks my fragile heart , but the frightening realization which has always lurked in the back of my mind, that I could have stopped her . I knew she was not happy ; none of us were, and yet, I still refused to look ugly reality in the face .  
  
"'It was your fault, Bianca ,' he had whispered softly, after they carried her away . 'You could have saved her; saved us all. We are nothing now , because of you.' The Magic had disappeared completely , and I was the sinister magician who had made it happen . Nothing would ever be right again .  
  
"I fled to Paris , slowly but surely . It seemed the right place for all wandering souls, and I soon found I enjoyed the company of no one. Six years I have been on my own ; and never once have I regretted it , for Life despises my exisitence , and I , in turn , despise the cold, bitter Life I have always known ." Her eyes flashed with a fierce intensity as they bored into his own ; almost as though she was searching for something impossible to find . "I was always a Princess . 'Someday , Bianca ,' she would say, whenever that familiar expression of bliss passed over her face, 'Someday , you will be a Prima Ballerina ; with a grace and charm like no other. You will be famous; with admirers, and possessions suitable only for royalty . The grandest princess ever to walk the Earth .' And now look; I have failed her yet again , for I am not grand, nor am I anything but the same , worthless street rat I have always been . I only pray that she is still proud of what used to be ."  
  
Surprisingly , no tears ran down the pallid cheeks of the now silent ingenue , though a look of intense suffering had clouded across her pleasant features. For the first time in many weeks , Erik 's heart broke for someone else. He, too, knew cruelty and bitterness, and silently found himself wishing his guest had been granted a normal childhood ; a normal life . His very soul ached for the pain they both shared, and the question which he had never forgotten surfaced once more : Why had Life been so cold and unfeeling ?  
  
"The song of an Angel is one to be cherished ," He returned her inquistive stare with the same powerful gaze, and, for one moment in his infinitely long life , Erik felt as though someone understood . "I, as well, once basked in the glow of a Heavenly candle; only to have it quickly stolen and snuffed out .... There is no light, no matter how beautiful , that shines forever ." The girl stood, never loosing his eyes, and steadied herself against the organ. A look of angiush and almost panic began to pass over her face, and he could almost hear the very cellars speaking to her with their silent voices; torturing with their forgotten song. Erik watched intently as she slowly dissolved into nothingness, as he had done only hours before , until she gave a small cry and ran from the broken room , up towards the harsh light of day from which she had come . Something inside her must have whispered, 'Run away! Escape from the pain which comes with remembering , and look ahead to the future .' If only the little cat knew just how fortunate she was to be able to abandon it all; for not ever the Opera Ghost possessed something as wonderful and sacred as Tomorrow . He no longer had somewhere to run.  
  
Her footsteps reverberated throughout the many passages; combining with the last, faint echos of her desperate voice , which seemed to linger softly on the walls long after her flight. Erik silently allowed her to go; unsure as to whether or not he would ever again encounter the one person he felt he could see, and could see him in return .  
  
~Geez, how angsty can you get ? Anyway, I know it's depressing, but, be warned, this is planning on getting even more so . I recommend you go read a nice , randomly hilarious phic to boost your mood . :) More to come !~ 


	6. Chapt 6

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
Chapt. 6  
  
  
  
Note: I know this is kind of late , but: Congrats to "Phantom ," who had its 6000th performance on June 13 ! Wahoo! Apparently, the cast had a party on the stage after the show . Dang, would I have liked to attend .... :) Oh well....  
  
  
  
The alleyway was dark and cold. As the sun sank below the horizon the temperature began to plummet as well, creating a vast, frigid night of probable horrors Bianca found she was all too acustomed to. Quietly sliding behind a rotting rain barrel, her green eyes glowed with fear as she warily searched the twilight around her for anything that might serve as a potential danger. A cat screamed in the distance, and the angry shouts of a heated argument from a room above her echoed off the walls and danced into the streets. Letting out a small sigh of uncertain relief , she slowly removed the stolen, half baguette; taken from the basket of a hot -tempered peasant woman who, undoubtably , could ill-afford the crafty hands of a well-trained pickpocket, desperate for a scrap of bread and a friendly face. Bianca had decided the bread was better than nothing at all. Long ago had she abandonded any feelings of guilt or remorse , and yet, as she pitifully gnawed at the stolen provisions, hot tears of self-hatred welled up and burned her green eyes . The poor woman had been simply one more example of suffering in human society; another dead star in the infinite galaxy of eternally brighter suns. Her hunger instantly subsided, as the fresh memories flooded her darkened mind.  
  
"Erik ..." His name escaped her lips in a hushed gasp of supressed tears; the first time in a week since she allowed his image to completely penetrate her heart . The expression of such pain which had reflected her own in his yellow eyes was shocking and yet, deeply intruiging . For one small moment, Bianca had felt a strange connection with someone who understood .  
  
"Beautiful evening , wouldn't you say, Little Cat ?" Acting on reflex , her head snapped up towards the dangerously soft voice; her flashing eyes scanning the unpredictable blackness. A rough, masculine hand reached out and snatched the half-eaten baguette from her own thin fingers, brushing her pale cheek as it passed.  
  
"I didn't think my friends and I would be getting our nightly meal, and then I just happened to see you , sulking in some dark corner, and wasting this perfectly fine bread. I guess it's just our good fortune , then, isn't it?" Recognizing the voice and its owner's sly smile, Bianca leaped to her feet, narrowing her green eyes in an attempt to hide her fear .  
  
"Be careful, Etienne ! She's got her Cat's gaze fixed on you! You don't want her to claw your eyes out!" The laughter which followed reverberated throughout the alley , intensifying her uneasy mood.  
  
"I would take care to watch what I say, Jean-Claude . That goes for all of you as well. I could easily break each one of your necks in half!" Her threat sounded so daring and confident , Bianca almost believed the brash words which flew to her lips. She knew , however, that they were much bigger than herself , and that they bore knives, whereas she had only the cat fighting skills from her late childhood ; hardly an equal match. Suddenly, without warning , Etienne 's muscular hand flew out at her again , this time grabbing her mass of dark hair and dragging her to her feet. He forced her head backwards, making struggling or resitence of any kind unbearably painful; exposing her white throat to the moonlight and stifling her screams.  
  
"I could easily break your neck in half right now , couldn't I, Little Cat ? It isn't as appealing when the tables have turned , is it?" Her breathing came in short, labored gasps as she struggled to stand in the unusual position in which he had placed her . The color drained from her already pale face as icy fear crept its way through her veins, seizing her spine and paralyzing her thoughts. They could kill her , it wasn't impossible, and all because of her foolish temper and quick tongue. Etienne's rough hands slithered their way around her throat, as a powerful snake does to its unfortunate prey. Tightening his grasp, he pulled her closer to his dirty face.  
  
"Pretty street rats like you exist only for a man's amusement," he hissed softly in her ear. The danger in his hoarse voice was increasing to a frightening level Bianca had seldom heard before , and she shuddered in the cold, damp night at the thought of what he could do to her. Releasing her head from its coarse prison at last , he flung her to the filthy ground; towering over her as a person towers over an unsightly spider before crushing it.  
  
"I am not finding you very amusing at all, however." His lips parted into a poisonous grin. "At least, not yet ." Bianca gasped as he took another step towards her ; the Devil's own smile plastered across his face. No longer pinned down with trembling fear, she leaped up onto a large crate with all the agility and poise her feline alias reserved , challenging them with her flashing eyes. Thinking quickly , she lunged at Etienne with all her strength; attempting to deal him a weakening blow sufficient enough to allow her a narrow window of opportunity . Unfortunately , the dark , moonless night impared her judgement , causing her sharp, jagged fingernails to swipe irrationally at his callous face. A small cry of shocked pain escaped her lips, blending with that of her victim ,as her body hit the dank ground. Crawling through the dirt , Bianca's trembling hands searched the air blindly for something to grab onto. Before she could lift her head in assitence, however, something attatched itself to her thin wrist with such force, it sent a wave of sharp pain up through her arm, causing her weakened knees to buckle under the weight of her body.  
  
"What's this?" Lifting her eyes to investigate the soft voice, Bianca saw in the pallid starlight the bleeding face of Etienne ; still smiling, despite his unexpected injury. Following his steely expression , her gaze at last came to rest on the desirable treasure which had taken him by surprise. Erik's dainty, golden ring still rested softly on her thin finger; its lustrous surface catching the pale lamplight and delicately reflecting bright sparks of illumination. The rough hands gently examined the piece of jewelery with an almost civilized curiosity .  
  
"Well, well. Bianca the Cat has found herself yet another fine prize to mock us with." His crude grasp moved slowly back up to her pale throat, where he fingered Mama's ruby with the same dangerous care . Too afraid and unsure of Etienne's intentions , Bianca held her tongue and struggled to surpress her growing rage. She shuddered as his cold hands brushed the base of her collarbone, causing him to laugh eerily at her obvious discomfort.  
  
"Where do you get such fine things? If I didn't know any better, I'd have almost mistaken you for a countess." His voice dripped with bitter sarcasm, as his smile faded slightly into a mysterious, almost frightening smirk. "I don't believe it would be fair for you to keep accquiring such desirable items, while we lie in the gutter and starve. And then to parade them around in front of those less fortunate than yourself!" He tsked his tongue lightly at her and laughed a loud, disturbing laugh. His compatriots soon joined in , creating a harrowing cacaphony of shrieking demons whose devilish noise echoed off the inky night sky. Composing himself once more , Etienne pulled her white hand up to admire the pleasing glint of the ring with a lusty fascination .  
  
"You're not a real countess." His voice was softer and more dangerous now . "You're nothing but a pathetic little street mouse , who doesn't deserve treasures that won't do her any good . I, on the other hand, could make great use of your newfound gem. It's worth a franc or two, I'd say." Licking his lips, as though attempting to taste the large sum of money the ring would bestow upon him, Etienne tightened his grip on her thin wrist with such strength, Bianca thought he might try to sever her hand in order to obtain what he wanted . Instantly, like a powerful bolt of lightening, she lost all connection with reality . Her brain flooded with haunting images of Erik , the pain he had endured, memories of her own cold grief, and the maddening thought that none of it mattered to them. They laughed, the ignorant fools, without knowing how deeply and horribly she and Erik had been wounded, and would continue to enjoy the petty earnings they would receive, without a moment's thought as to how significant their precious pawn might have been to someone else. Rational thought was no longer accessable , and the moonless sky seemed to cloud over as her intolerence peaked .  
  
"Never," she hissed into the still blackness . "I would rather die a thousand deaths than to see you and your disgusting gang of horrible urchins steal and collect a profit off of this ring." In her blind fury, Bianca felt an unbearable desire to hurt, torment or kill. Bringing her flashing gaze to meet with his own, she thrust her face up and spat into his eyes; causing him to emit a shocked cry of revulsion and horror, while releasing her trembling hands from his iron grasp. As he wiped her attack away with a swift, rough gesture, Bianca could see a look of pure hate pass over his face. Moving with quick agility, she attempted to escape, but stumbled over the rough, uneven ground. Towering over her once more , the devlish grin returning , Etienne reached into his coat for something invisable in the darkness .  
  
"A thousand deaths?" he repeated , as the others moved in towards her , trapping her like a doomed, unwanted rat. Their smiles gleamed in unison with the flash of their silvery knives. 


	7. Chapt 7

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
Chapt. 7  
  
Note: These are the last 2 chapters ! *sniff, sniff* Thank you all for reading and/or reviewing! I know the first few parts were sometimes hard to read because of the format and the paragraph breaks, or lack thereof , so I tried to go back and fix it for you guys. When I upload stuff onto ff.net , it usually looks different from what I have on my computer. I have no idea why, but sometimes that can create a problem , as it did with this phic. Anyway, thanks once again , and I hope you've enjoyed this.  
  
  
  
  
  
The coolness of the gentle lace felt strangely comforting to his trembling hands, as he carefully fingered the garments which hung, untouched since her departure, in the elegant wardrobe. The silence of the room was almost overwhelming. It consumed him, as did his emptyness, and yet, he did not pull away from the painful familiarity of the clothes which would never again feel the touch of their true owner. With one final glance at the yards of hanging fabric, Erik softly shut the wardrobe door and fastened its lock securely; knowing that he, too, would never again gaze upon their lovely colors and delicate patterns. His use for the dresses had ceased to exist, for never again would a woman venture into her bedroom, yet he could not bring himself to dispose of them so readily . To erase evidence of her existence would be to erase her entirely , and though it often brought him pain, he did not wish to destroy the memory. He had come to realize that without Christine , his life would have been nothing more than a dark, loveless void; containing nothing except a black hole of empty emotions which would inevitably consume him in its firey embrace.  
  
No , he was glad that Christine Daae had entered his life ; almost thankful , though he was often unsure of who or what to thank. After her departure , he had indeed been embittered by her decision, and often sat through long periods of delirium; cursing her for being so beautiful, and himself, for being so ugly. His feelings of hatred would vanish, however, whenever he caught sight of her ring; usually resting softly on the floor, or on top of his grand organ which, like his dark kingdom, had also been condemned to silence. The similiarities between the feminine piece of jewelery and its bearer were almost striking at times . Both were simplistic, yet radiantly beautiful; containg only the purest of elements and emitting an angelic halo of light wherever it rested. The cold resentment which clouded his mind would suddenly melt away, as his fingers stroked the ring's exterior, touching it only in ways he had ever dared to touch her. Warmth and memories of almost joy would then flood his heart, as he sat and gazed lovingly upon the bright flashes of light emitted from the gem's exterior; recalling her smile, her voice, and the unconcious grace which surrounded her . It was during these times that he felt no hate for mankind, and no sorrow for the loss of Christine . She had saved him, and he was startled to realize how rarely he had acknowledged this. Without Christine's presence, he might never have known what it was like to be loved, to be admired, or to be kissed. It seemed as though the imprint of her embrace still rested on his body, and he found comfort in the fact that it could never fully be erased . She had given him all that he had ever asked for , and though it had only been for a brief while until she saw what everyone else had always seen, and ran like everyone else had always done, it was enough to mend his broken soul.  
  
Oddly enough, it was the presence of the street girl, Bianca , which had opened his eyes and cleared his lurid brain. It had been quite a long while since he had last met a person with intense pain and unhappiness looming in their past, so, naturally, Erik had become accustomed to focusing the part of his brain which pityed solely on himself. It shocked him to hear her story; to imagine a different kind of suffering that he somehow understood. After she, too, left him in the midst of emotional turmoil, Erik found his thoughts ravaged, not by Christine , but by her. He examined her state of mind in his head, and saw a troubled child who roamed the streets in search of answers to questions far too complicated to even ask. And it was during this strange examination that he realized that he, too, implored the darkness night after night to no avail . He, too, blindly clung to self-pity and hatred of the world, in an attempt to clear his conscience and explain why there was so much pain. But it wasn't until he saw her, truely saw her for who she was, that Erik knew, at last, who he was. His prayers had been answered . He had received at least a taste of what he had always longed for , and though he still could feel the hurt stabbing at his heart, he had finally accepted that the only brief happiness he had ever known had passed. Summertime had come and gone , in the form of an angel he had once , and would always love .  
  
Turning to face the strange, wax figure which stood regally in the corner of the elegant bedroom, Erik approached it for the final time . Touching the smooth fabric of the wedding gown, he once again allowed himself to remember how beautiful Christine had looked in it, and how he had longed to see a radiant smile on her lovely face, instead of the frightened glare which resonated in her eyes. Sighing noiselessly into the stillness of the room, he gently placed the veil on the head of the figure, whispering softly the words he never was able to say.  
  
"Goodbye, Christine ." 


	8. Chapt 8

Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa  
  
Chapt. 8  
  
  
  
Stumbling blindly along the darkened streets, Bianca forced her brain to concentrate. The bitter night air scraped at her pale face as her feet awkwardly struggled to find their way through the ominous alleyway. Her head spun violently as she thrust a trembling hand out to feel the stone wall in front of her; searching for the mysterious door she knew was there. Clutching the ring to her side, she paused briefly in the eerie stillness and attempted to regain control of her thoughts. Her vision blurred and projected double images, rendering her almost blind to whatever danger lay before her. I have to get down there, she thought, frantically, as she struggled with the reluctant handle. I was stupid to keep the ring. I should have known it wouldn't be safe in my hands. I have to return it to Erik before it's too late. Before they find me again ...  
  
The door gave a soft groan in the deathly silence, as Bianca used the last of her strength to force it open. Slipping into the dank passageway, she quickly pulled it shut behind her and fell to the floor; her hollow breathing echoing off the walls and ceiling. She grasped either side of the corridor for support and staggered to her feet; smoothing the ring with her thumb and forefinger for reassurance. Leaning against the cold, musty walls, Bianca slowly began to slide noiselessly down the passage, which seemed to grow longer and more foreboding with each step.  
  
"Erik ..." she whispered into the darkness. "Erik ..." Inside her head, her mind formed the words her mouth could not. Erik, I'm coming! I have your ring. Please, Erik ... Desparately clawing at her throat, her fingers at last found what they were looking for. Clinging to both the ruby and the ring, Bianca approached the strange, subterranean house, silently praying to whoever would listen to the pitiful pleas of a streetmouse. Oh, Erik! God, wherever You are, give me the strength to find him. Tell me I'm not too late ... Mama ...  
  
The familiar rhythmic tapping and hushed whispers floated through the house and met his startled ears. Glancing up from the floor, Erik was again awakened from his complex thoughts by the sounds of a possible intruder. Upon hearing the gentle, feminine footsteps and soft whimpering, cursed hope flooded his heart once again , daring his lips to form the unthinkable.  
  
"Christine ..." His small question was answered almost immediately by the appearance of a small, thin form staggering through the passageway which led to the street. Her breathing was labored, and the strange green eyes which had haunted his thoughts flashed dangerously in the darkness. He exhaled slightly, and took a step closer; annoyed with his foolish thoughts, and curious as to why she had returned to his nightmare.  
  
"Bianca ? Why have you come back ? I thought ..." His voice trailed off into nothingness, unsure of how to finish. There was a brief moment of silence between them as the girl paused to catch her breath. Though he could not see her clearly in the darkened room, he could sense that something was not right . She suddenly shuddered violently in the chill and gave a soft moan, as Erik thought he heard her fall to her knees. Alarmed, he hastily grabbed a small candle from a nearby table and brought it closer to his wayward guest. The warm light cast its halo upon the floor, to reveal the trembling form of the dirty street mouse he had sheltered only a week ago.  
  
"You shouldn't be here," He held out his thin hand. "You were wise to leave before , this is not the place for you." He paused, and then added, bitterly, "This is not the place for anyone but me ." She lifted her head at last, revealing to him the damp, hollow face of a child who is deathly ill. He drew back at the sight of her ghostly pallor; the shock obviously showing in his glowing eyes.  
  
"D-don't worry about me," she murmered, swallowing a grimace. "I'll be fine. I'm leaving, if that's what you want. I h-have to give you th-this, though. It's n-not safe with me . I l-learned that the hard way." She gingerly lifted the small ring up towards him; its bright, golden finish dancing in the candlelight. Erik inhaled sharply at the sight that met with his eyes. The trembling hand that held his precious treasure in its grasp was painted with fresh blood. His eyes drifted down to the front of her coat, which beared a deep scarlet stain that seemed to be increasing in size. Emitting a strangled gasp, Bianca dropped the ring to the floor and placed her arm at her side once again , in an attempt to quell the pain. Quickly pocketing the gem, Erik grabbed her firmly by the shoulder and tilted her body backwards in the direction of the candlelight.  
  
"How did this happen?" He demanded as he gingerly opened her discolored coat. The torn ends of her shirt hung limply over the deep wound which cut through her flesh. "A knife." He said, simply, after a brief examination. "A knife made this." He paused, and gently held his hand out to her. "You must get to a doctor. A surgeon would be best, but a doctor at the very least. You cannot stay here." She nodded faintly, misunderstanding him, and struggled to sit up.  
  
"I - I know. I'm sorry, I meant no - no ... I'm leaving ... I only wanted to give ... the ring ... Erik ... Where is it?" Her face crumpled into a painful grimace as she sat up and began frantically searching the cold ground, her breathing coming in deep gasps, until she finally collapsed to the floor in agony. Erik removed the ring from his pocket and knelt down beside her.  
  
"Here, I have it. Be still. You're exhausting yourself." His voice had suddenly become soft and gentle, as though it might sooth the hurt from her damaged body. She turned over onto her back and smiled up at the ring in his hand.  
  
"I saved it, Erik. They wanted to take it, but I wouldn't let them ... I fought them for it. All six of them, against me! And I w-won , too." She paused, and studied his expression. "H-have I told you how g-good I am at fighting, Erik? I've been doing it m-most of my life. They call me 'The Cat,' you know, because I'm a fighter ... a good ... fighter ..." Her eyes closed briefly, as she struggled to gain control of her rapid breathing.  
  
"Why?" Erik whispered. "Why did you put yourself at risk? Does this ring really mean something to you? Is it worth death?" The thought of a stranger jeopardizing herself so gravely for him was so foreign an idea that he refused to even undertake it. There must have been some other explanation, some reason as to why she cherished that ring enough to risk her life for it.  
  
"I do not fear death, Erik. N-not anymore." She tried to laugh softly, but emitted a raspy coughing noise instead. He stared quizzically at her pale face, not fully understanding her meaning. "I have known it, I have seen it ... It used to frighten me . I even h-had nightmares about it ... But now I can taste it. I c-can feel it very near." She opened her now-tranquil green eyes and reached out for the ring; taking it between her trembling fingers and gently stroking its smooth surface. "Erik, tell me about Christine." His back stiffened as he inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the unexpected request. A tense silence hung in the air between them, broken only by the short gasps of Bianca's labored breathing.  
  
"That is a subject I prefer not to dwell on anymore," he replied, icily. The words sliced through him like a cold wind. He felt no desire to unearth the unpleasant feelings he had resolved to put to rest only an hour ago. He could endure such torture again!  
  
"You loved her, didn't you?" Bianca asked. The simplicity of her question burned his heart, and something inside him softened. He slowly reached out and took the ring from her grasp, closing his thin fingers around it and feeling its warmth.  
  
"Yes," he murmured weakly. He could feel himself falling under Christine's spell once again. "More than life itself." His grip tightened as he thought bitterly of how strong his devotion had been, and the eventual gratitude she had shown. "Wretched little demon that she was ... I loved her ... I loved her ... Oh, why did I love her so much ...?" A lone tear ran down his face beneath the mask, as his heart wrenched itself open once more. He did not try to supress the memories this time, nor did he supress the tears. No longer could he continue to fight such a battle. He realized once again that Christine could never be erased from his mind; she had unknowingly impressed herself so deeply upon his life that even in her eternal absence she continued to exist. A new ghost haunted the Opera now.  
  
"We d-do not choose who or where or even when w-we will love, Erik," Bianca whispered softly into the darkness. "Only ou-our hearts know, and th-those are secrets that are forever kept." The words hammered through his brain, echoing over and over again until he thought he might scream.  
  
After a long pause, Erik tore himself away from his dismal thoughts, a wave of fatigue and unusual peace washing through him. The past, he had realized, was grim and unchangeable, and the future was nonexistent; his only thoughts now were concerned with the present. It was all he had left. He was tired, more tired than he had ever felt before as though something had drained both his body and soul of all its combined strength. The sudden silence undisturbed by the periodic strains of Bianca's raspy breathing alarmed him, and he lifted his eyes towards the fading child who lay by his feet, at last remembering why she had returned.  
  
"Bianca ..." His soft whisper echoed throughout the labyrinth; heard by all except her. Extending a trembling finger, Erik gently reached out to feel her hand. The familiar chill of death met with his touch. Her breathing had subsided to short, hurried gasps of air, and the strange cat eyes which had haunted his dreams were now glazed over and distant. Acknowledging his thin fingers on her skin, she weakly attempted to grip them with the remainder of her strength.  
  
"Sing to me, Erik ... so I won't be afraid ..." Her words were so soft and feeble, he was at first unsure if she had even uttered them at all, but the slight tightening of her grasp around his trembling hand confirmed his assumptions of her last request. With only a moment's hesitation, Erik opened his mouth and gently began to soothe her with his heavenly voice.  
  
"'Kyrie, kyrie, kyrie eleison ...'" His wedding mass for Christine had now become the requiem for a street urchin. The cruel irony leered out from the shadows and laughed noiselessly in his face, yet he unconciously continued, as if pulled along by some invisable string. Time seemed to crawl by as Erik repeated the sacred words over and over again, while keeping a close watch on the irregular rise and fall of her chest. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she exhaled a small, almost inaudible sigh, and opened her glassy eyes, which had closed when he had first begun to sing. A look of wonder and blissful serenity passed over her face as she looked to the ceiling and uttered one word ...  
  
"Angel ..."  
  
And then there was nothing but silence. The darkness suddenly seemed thick and intense; an incredible black hole of death that lay waiting to swallow him up, as it had done to Bianca. Another tear ran down his face. This time, he carefully removed the mask and set it on the floor by her hand, which sat lifelessly upon his. Taking her head in his tender grasp, he turned it towards his own and silently studied her empty eyes; eyes that had once held such spirit and endurance. Now they held nothing except the faint glimmer of a life that could have been so much more. Erik softly reached out with his thin fingers and closed them, one after the other, so she would be spared the sight of his face, even though he knew she was dead and could no longer see. Laying her carefully back down upon the cold ground, he gently lifted her pale fingers to his lips and kissed them. As the last candle slowly burned itself out, Erik heard himself whisper his final goodbye to the child who had made him see.  
  
"Il commiato, la mia Principessa ..." Farewell, my Princess ...  
  
~Finis~ 


End file.
